


Shufflin' Through

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Trope Challenge [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Issac is a Stalker, M/M, Mama Stilinksi feels, Sleep Deprivation, Trope Challenge, but in a cute way, i just really don't like him, not for Scott fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: What happens when Stiles begins to show the classic signs of sleep deprivation? A certain puppy werewolf suffers right along with him.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Trope Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086479
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147





	Shufflin' Through

**Author's Note:**

> Trope 4 - Sleep Deprived

* * *

Isaac is struggling. To have gone from the tall, lanky loner that could barely look up from his own shoes to a werewolf surging with primal power has not been easy. Shocker. Derek had enticed him with the promise of power, but, surprise surprise, had left a hell of a lot out. And why wouldn't he? Even desperate teenagers are going to think twice about taking the Bite if all the negative is explained. Like complete loss of control. The desire to rip everyone's head off at the drop of a pin. The brand new inability to control your desires, or to at least struggle wickedly with them. 

That's not even adding the impending troubles of the Full Moon or the fact that there's an entire subgroup of humans that hunt your kind in the hopes of making your species fully extinct. Gee, wonder why Derek hadn't hit on any of those sweet points??

He struggles to shut off the sarcastic part of his brain that seems to have grown more active since the Bite. He momentarily wonders if that's a thing. Derek has a habit of switching between deadpan, silent, and sassy with breakneck speed. It would be oddly hilarious if being a werewolf tweaked your mind like that. Not that he's every been particularly -normal- mentally, or anything. Losing his Mom and older brother, being left alone with his abusive prick of a dad ... hadn't exactly been the formula for a poster boy upbringing or anything. Though, thinking about most of his classmates .. ain't -none- of them normal. Erica has seizures, Scott's parents are divorced, Lydia is a freak despite her debutante air, and Stiles .... well. 

He feels his ears heat up a little as he thinks about Stiles. The other teen is freaky smart, freaky good looking, and freaky loud, freaky visual, freaky wild, etc etc. Honestly, Isaac is pretty sure he could spend the better part of an afternoon making a list of Stiles' many qualities, good and bad, and barely scratch the surface. He may or may not have spent the better part of their childhood quietly stalking him. 

(Obviously he has. I mean, if the teenagers of Beacon Hills had 1/10th of a survival instinct, it would pretty much be obvious to every single one of them how Isaac has silently stalked the boy through the years. More so than Stiles ever stalked Lydia, actually. And don't even get him -started- on how much Lydia does NOT deserve that kind of devotion. That would take up far more than just the afternoon.)

Isaac is currently sitting behind the Beacon Hills High sign, pretending to wait for Derek to show up. There's only about a 50/50 chance his Alpha will remember. Or care. Of course, it's a good vantage point to stare at the school and wait. Semi patiently. He doesn't actually care if Derek shows up. It's nothing more than a brisk jog to get to the train depot, and that will feel like nothing with his new wolfie stamina. The Alpha is just a simple, quick, easy excuse for sitting in this spot to watch.

It only takes about ten minutes before he sees what he's been waiting for. Stiles. The usually animated teen comes shuffling out of the building, coltish limbs eerily sedate today. That immediately puts Isaac on edge. Any time Stiles is manageable, something is -definitely- wrong. Like, -seriously- wrong. He can count less than half a dozen times the teen had shut down like that. 

Even from here, Isaac can see the fact that his steps are uneven. Shuffle, drag, shuffle shuffle, trip, drag ... he's clumsy on the best of days, but when he's moving at a snail pace and -still- manages to trip on thin air, it sends all of Isaac's brand new instincts into a frenzied overdrive. He crushes his hands into tight fists, shoves them down against his knees in a bid to keep himself sitting rather than just lunge and ... do something stupid. Tackle the boy to the ground and scent him, wrap him up in his coat and hold him, or maybe try and kiss him. All the kinds of actions he's spent most of puberty fighting against. 

He cranes his neck to look behind the stumbling teen, jaws gritting so painfully his teeth creak in protest when he doesn't see Scott anywhere in sight. How the other werewolf could let Stiles out of his sight is mind boggling. If Stiles were -his- friend, he's pretty sure he'd be at his side every second he was allowed, like a perfectly loyal guard dog. Anything to keep him protected and safe. When Derek had so offhandedly mentioned that STILES had helped take down the Rogue Alpha, Isaac had nearly had a heart attack. His Alpha had, of course, heard the discordant heartbeat and had simply raised an eyebrow, but didn't push for an explanation. One of the things he likes most about his Alpha. There's no demand to share things, though that can be a pain when Derek fails to share important information. Refer back to hunters, instincts, etc. 

His fists furl tighter, the sudden sprout of his claws digging into his palms until the fresh scent of salted, rusted copper clogs his nose. He sneezes delicately, blushes at the softness of it, and forces his claws to vacate his flesh. A sudden honk has him jerking in surprise, looking around until he spots his Alpha. He curses softly under his breath when he doesn't see Stiles again, and forcefully grabs his backpack. When he slides into Derek's car, he makes sure to give his Alpha the most deadpan stare he can as they drive away.

* * *

Isaac -hates- science. Not because he's bad at it or anything, but because Harris is a monumental douche that has some serious problems. His hate for Stiles is a well documented phenomenon. The fact that Stiles is the only one that gets points deducted for not putting his real name is a gross abuse of power. Especially considering his license even has him labeled as Stiles. Isaac's pretty sure the teen could combat it, but he's basically the second smartest kid in the entire school, so he can also understand why he hasn't expended the energy to fight something so petty. In the end, all Harris will accomplish is being remembered as a controlling jerk that is so pathetic, he has to bully high school students to make himself feel important.

At the moment, Isaac is standing outside of the room, arms full of his backpack. Despite the new boost in confidence that his were'hood has brought, Isaac feels self conscious and awkward. Mostly because he's torn between wanting to be out somewhere running, and because he's worried that he might accidentally snap at Harris. Or worse. It would be so much easier if he could skip school, but he has to keep going. With his Dad's death, he can't risk putting the authorities on the trail of his Alpha. So, he'll do what he's done since his Mom died. He takes a deep breath and steals himself before entering the room. Most of the tables are already full, lab partners chosen as all things are in the hierarchy of high school - life long friendships. Like the fact that Jackson and Danny are sitting together.

He fights the desire to do so, but finds himself glancing in the direction of the bro table. He sees Scott slouching in his seat, cellphone glued to his hands. No doubt texting Allison, despite probably having seen her seconds before. He bites the inside of his cheek as he slaps his notebook down in front of him, tossing a pencil next to it before setting his pack at his feet. He folds his arms over themselves and lays his head down. He had spent the entire night fighting off nightmare after nightmare, until he finally just decided to stay awake. He had spent the early morning hours doing homework. He's pretty sure he failed two papers he turned in today. They won't hurt his grades, though. 

He's not Stiles or Lydia, but he does well enough considering the things he's been through. It's a little hard to do homework, after all, when you're being smacked around or locked in an old freezer by your Dad. The memories make him shudder, teeth biting hard enough into his lip that he can taste the salty tang of blood. He licks it away absently, wondering how long it will be before the memory of his Dad stops leaving him an utter mess. Probably never. Trauma on a forming brain tends to be permanent in ways ranging from minute to severe and it's not like the Bite can heal those. 

Isaac's mind wanders as he waits patiently for class to start. Imagine his surprise when the loud scraping of the stool next to him being pulled out cuts through the room. He jerks upright so fast that his back gives a phantom twinge as he watches Stiles drop heavily down onto the stool. Everyone in the room except Scott and Lydia have glanced over to see the odd event, but immediately turn back to their conversations. Isaac can do little more than stare dumbly at the other teen, before looking at the empty seat next to Scott and then back at Stiles. Who gives him a dazed, only half present smile. 

He looks horrible. Still beautiful, but horrible. There are bruises under his eyes, making them look almost sunken. His nose and cheeks are red, probably from excess rubbing as he tried to focus. His finger tips are swollen, nails chipped and frayed in several places. His plaid over shirt is wrinkled and his black tee shirt looks two sizes too big. A subtle sniff and he pegs it as belonging to the Sheriff. Even his lips look smudged odd, unhealthy colors. 

"Uh..." He curses his ineloquence, feeling like a complete fool for not knowing what to say. He and Stiles haven't spoken that much since the beginning of junior high, when all children begin to understand that cliques are a way of life and it's no longer cool to be friends with everyone. Since then, he can count the amount of conversations shared between them on one hand. And he means -actual- conversations, not the enthusiastic hellos that Stiles gives to everyone. 

"Hiyah, Isaac. Long time no ... whatever." To watch Stiles start off sluggish and then just wind down rather than shine with his usual enthusiasm is physically painful for Isaac to watch. On the upside, however, and he really does just hate himself for this, some part of him is cheering elaborately at the fact that Stiles not only talked to him, but that he's tucking his lanky limbs onto the seat next to him, apparently preparing to spend the entire class period -here- rather than next to Scott. 

Oh. My. GOD! His insides immediately become some strange soup of confusion, happiness and FEAR! Is he supposed to actually find his -voice- and somehow .. talk .... to STILES?! His new found instincts sit up and take notice, all kinds of new desires to take action pouring through him and adding to the confusion and fear. He's not exactly normal, but he's pretty sure that despite everything else he's felt for the other teenager, he's never had the desire to crawl up on top of him like a blanket and just .. rub all over him. Because that would be enough to trigger a lot of red flags! So, it must be part of his new instincts. 

He unfolds his arms and then carefully furls his fists under the table, pressing them hard against his knees so that he doesn't reach out or something equally stupid.

"So ... nothing to say there, big guy?" Big guy? God help him, he can feel his cheeks filling with heat and he quickly looks away. Glances around the class to see if anyone else is marking this freak occurrence/momentous occasion. Not surprising, no one is paying attention. Not even Scott is trying to find out where his best friend/constant partner is. This angers Isaac more than he's willing to let on. 

"Uh ... hi?" He winces, eyes narrowing and drooping at the same time at the nonsense that comes out of his mouth. He is a life long, consummate sufferer of the desire for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. No more so than in this moment! And given the insane things that happen in Beacon Hills, it's a wonder that it hasn't actually happened yet. I mean, werewolves, Kanimas, hunters .... but alas. 

Stiles' bruised eyes soften inexplicably, and Isaac's insides pull off this complicated somersault that has him wanting to throw up or something as embarrassing. Thankfully, he doesn't. As if he needs yet another reason for Stiles to think he's a complete loser! Why couldn't the Bite have made him as suave and freakin' cool as his Alpha!?

"Was that a question? Are you asking me if I'm high? Or maybe, you don't know if you're supposed to talk to me?" Stiles' has begun to smile now, that real, broad smile of his. It's tired and a little off, but a smile all the same. The last time Isaac remembers that smile being aimed at him, he had just caught Stiles when the teen had been flailing dramatically and tripped over his own feet. Stiles had beamed at him, patted his shoulder, and then gone right back to flailing. 

"Uh ..." Okay, ground. Seriously. Any freakin' minute now! He has not struggled this badly since changing! Where has all his newfound confidence gone? Apparently, it turned it's wolfy little tail and ran! He clears his throat, tries to remember what it feels like to swagger down the halls, knowing he never has to look at his feet again. Tries to remember that none of these people can ever make him afraid again. He grins suddenly, a little too toothy, probably, but more at ease than he has felt since Stiles appeared. "More like a ... multipurpose question addressing your presence here, rather than glued to your boyfriend's side. I can only assume you're hoping I'll camouflage you from Harris' usual BS." Isaac carefully rearranges himself so that his chin is resting on his recrossed arms, his head canted in such a way that he's practically peeking up at Stiles coyly through his curly bangs. 

The human shifts in his seat, his smile faltering for a moment as color spreads across his cheeks. Isaac's nostrils flare, catching the scent of something .. familiar. It's like ... vanilla spice ... and lemonade in the heart of summer. But somehow ... also not right. It takes him far too long to understand what the scent is. 

It's the -exact- same way Stiles smells whenever he's trying, and failing, to hit on Lydia. Isaac feels ... like he's been sucker punched and force-fed a handful of wolfsbane all at the same time. His world has suddenly tilted on it's axis, and it didn't even do that when he -changed species-! Stiles .. is .. is ....

Before he can finish the thought, he has another revelation. The off point of the scent. He has smelled that on Derek several times when his Alpha came back from patrol. It usually meant that he had been up too long, pushed himself too hard. It's like ... scenting something sick just beneath the surface of something delicious. It makes Isaac's heart ache. It also leaves him feeling frustrated. He doesn't know what someone does to help in this situation. Of course, he also has a feeling he's not actually -supposed- to help, since they're not close. Scott could help, if he had in any way bothered to acknowledge anything but his phone so far. 

"Okay, Imma correct you on something -major- here, buddy. Where Scott would be -hella- lucky to get this .." Stiles actually goes so far as to wave his hands over his body in an exaggerated way. ".. that's just horrible on every level, man. Don't get me wrong .. I love Scott with all I am, but not in a boyfriend way. That would be incest, dude. Scott is my brother-from-another-Mother." Isaac glances over, winces imperceptibly when he notices that Scott is still completely unaware. 

"I think you've been booted from the brotherhood, Stiles." The moment he says the words he wants to take them back! His first conversation with the other teen, and he says something that harsh. Stiles' scent suddenly changes. Plunges so deep that it makes the teen smell like a vinegar factory or something. Isaac quickly turns his head, sneezing several times in a row before making himself breathe through his mouth. "Stiles, I'm so--"

"No. It's cool, dude. I mean, you're right." The sour scent spreads out, until Isaac can envision little lines of it wafting all over like in a cartoon. Stiles lays his cheek down on his arm, rubbing absently at the sleeve of his flannel shirt. "I mean, even after everything I've done since he got the Bite, he basically just left me in the dust. And I really need him. I mean, it's --" The teen's eyes widen, his mouth clamping closed in a tight white line. Apparently, he was about to give away something he didn't want to. 

Isaac really, -really- dislikes Scott right now. And not just in a mind-numbingly jealous of their friendship, way.

"Is it why you're not sleeping?" Isaac blurts the question, blinking in surprise and then groaning. Honestly, from not being able to say anything like a complete moron, to not being able to shut up. It'd be really great if he were capable of some kind of middle ground. But alas, he is not. Stiles' head cants to the side, eyes narrowed in contemplation. He looks torn between surprisingly fond and totally dismayed. Isaac is struggling not to latch onto the fondness. It's probably all in his head. 

"Wow. Just .. I mean ... wow. When you finally start, you just go all in, huh? Blatant statements, over-the-line questions." Isaac tries not to flinch. He really does. Goes so far as to remind himself that he's a badass werewolf now, and there's very little he should be afraid of. But it doesn't work. He's already getting ready to apologize when Stiles suddenly grins. Right out of left field. That beautiful, bright, mischievous grin that hits Isaac dead centre of the heart! "Gotta say, really like the new you, Isaac. You were always pretty cool, but this confidence? Totally rocking it, dude!" 

What?

I mean .... WHAT?! Isaac hard swallows, feels his adam's apple bob dramatically, and is preparing to say ... something. Hopefully flirty and totally suave.

"Everyone quiet down. Today, we're working straight out of the book. Please turn to page --" Isaac growls, so low it's sub-vocal, when Harris picks this moment to step into class and straight into the lessen plan. He is vaguely aware of Scott going completely still, but then almost immediately returns to his phone. Stiles has settled fully on his seat, tiredly flipping through his book.

* * *

Isaac can't sleep. It's been a little over three days since Stiles said that he was 'rocking' his new confidence, and Isaac has been struggling since. It doesn't help that Stiles still smells off, too tired to function, and just .. not like STILES. He would give almost anything to be able to help the other teen. But in truth, he has no clue what Stiles needs. 

If he thought he would take a break from his phone long enough to be of any use, he'd ask Scott what is going on. He has a feeling the poor potato has no clue, though. And Derek .. well, there's -no chance- the emotionally constipated fail wolf would be capable of figuring something like that out. (And yes, the fail wolf was totally stolen from Stiles. The other teen is so good at sweet disses like that.)

After another twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he accidentally shreds his sheet with his claws and realizes that it's time to give up the ghost. With a disgruntled grunt, he fights his way up, off his little mattress. He tosses the shreds onto one of the broke old train seats and walks to the busted laundry basket with his clothes. It takes too long to change out of his sleep pants and into basic outside wear. Nothing more than a long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans. He's too tired to even make sure that they go together. (A basic black shirt with blue jeans, so thankfully it's fine.) After a moment's thought, he decides to leave his leather jacket behind. 

Once he's got shoes and socks on, and his wallet, he heads out of the train. He had expected Derek to be asleep, but his Alpha very rarely does as Isaac expects. The born werewolf is sitting on a piece of cement, a book opened. He's leaning forward, cheek propped on his fist as he reads. It's the most at ease that Isaac has ever seen him, and it warms his heart. The poor guy deserves a bit of ease in his life. He doesn't remember the fire as thoroughly as Stiles does, but he has some vague recollection of it. Enough to know that people can be EVIL and Derek -really- deserves a break in life. 

"... still can't sleep." Despite the flat tone, Isaac gets a wealth of information from the words. The fact that it's a question, not a statement. The fact that the Alpha is worried about his Beta. The fact that Derek is tired, too. Isaac really wishes that there was something he could do for the older man, but nurturing and helping, not exactly his strong point. 

"Not even a little." He sighs the response, shoving his hands into his back pockets, subconsciously making himself smaller. It has nothing to do with cowardice or fear of his Alpha, but instead, a throwback to before the Bite. He was so used to folding in on himself, trying to hide in plain sight so that his Dad wouldn't hurt him. Derek hasn't yet given him reason to suspect something bad might happen. "I'm gonna go for a run. See if that wears me out a little."

"Fine. Be careful." Isaac flashes a tired smile at his Alpha before he heads out. Despite his desire to go for a run, it feels as if every step is waging a battle of some kind. One foot in front of the other shouldn't leave him feeling wiped out. So much for the oh so improved were stamina. He nearly trips over his own feet as he exits the depot, when he hears Stiles' voice in his head telling him that he should 'totally demand fail wolf give you a refund.' It might be time to admit that he's a little too fixated on the human. (Not that he will -EVER- admit that. Because then he'd have to admit that it might be time to get -over- Stiles and he's given up way too much lately. He's not giving this up any time soon.) 

With a groan, he takes a deep breath and takes off running.

* * *

This should in no way be surprising, so why the hell is he surprised?!? After roughly an hour and a half of running in what he assumed was a haphazard, random way, he ends up in Stiles' backyard. Because of COURSE he does. Where did he -honestly- think he was going to head? The bluff? The Preserve? Maybe to Scott's place, or to the 24 hour diner?

No.

No, of course not.

He was doing everything in his power to delude himself, because it was 1000% obvious that he would end up at the house of STILES STILINSKI! There may as well have been five foot tall neon signs pointing the way. Sure, he had taken way too long to get here, but it was still pretty obvious that this was his ultimate destination. Vaguely, he wonders if Derek would laugh at him ... shake his head in sympathy .... or smack him up the backside of the head. 

All three are viable options, because all three apply to this situation. After all of his uncharitable thoughts toward Scott over his Allison obsession, and he's -really- not any better, is he? No. He is not. In fact, he's pretty much worse. Because Scott is in the beginning stages of his little puppy love thing, while Isaac is several years in. Also ... well, Scott is actually with Allison while he has an absolute zero chance of getting with Stiles. He doesn't even blame the other teen for wanting nothing to do with him. If he were in Stiles shoes, he'd totally ignore himself, too. He's the pathetic abused kid with way too many issues. About the -only- redeeming quality, is that he's a werewolf, now. Despite how cool that is, though, it's not even a factor. It's still not good enough to put him on anyone's radar. 

He huffs a breath, eyes squinting up at the back of the house. He struggles not to admit to himself that it is stalker levels of behavior that he can pinpoint Stiles' room despite not having been inside the house. And that is not because of scent, but because he may or may not have staked the place out before. Multiple times. Over multiple years.

Yeah, okay. He has problems. However, this isn't even his worse habit, anymore. He's pretty sure that morphing into a murderous, half crazed werewolf once a month trumps just about anything else. (As long as he doesn't get the sudden urge to do something outrageous like mark Stiles' yard or anything, that is.) He shoves his hands into his back pockets, hunches his shoulders, and allows himself to just ... stare at Stiles' window. Because what is his day without a bucket-load of crazy, right? 

His head lolls back, a light breeze ruffling his curls. Leaving him feeling listless and off balance. In the old days, sneaking around out here made him feel better. And yes, he knows that just adds to the crazy, but whatever. His life had been terrible, his joys so few and far between, that he has a hard time denying himself. But again ... as long as he doesn't do anything utterly stupid, he should be okay. 

Time passes oddly since he has no real desire to keep check on it. He doesn't have a watch, and he's not really the type to be able to tell by moon position or something like that. Hmm .... bet Stiles could do that. He grins suddenly, feeling his cheeks heat up as he thinks about the teen. Feels them tug and pull at just how big he grins, because he's technically alone and can afford to show a little real emotion. Rather than the cold, badass facade he's been wearing as of late. 

Which would Stiles like better ... sweet, puppy Isaac or badass Beta Isaac? It's probably a moot point. Stiles likes Lydia. Worships the ground she graces with her Redheaded Goddess presence. Almost immediately, he can feel his smile shatter into pieces as he battles a wave of jealousy that he has no right to. Emotions don't listen to right or wrong though, do they? If they did, being a werewolf would be a lot easier .... and his Dad wouldn't have been an abusive prick. 

Wouldn't ... shouldn't .... neither of those things matter. Life ain't a bit fair and getting the Bite was never going to change that. 

"You know, that -never- stops being creepy, Isaac. A little flattering, yeah ... but really creepy, dude." The voice comes out of nowhere, taking him so fully by surprise that his new found wolfy grace does -nothing- to keep him from tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his ass. Right in front of Stiles. Once again, ground ... any minute you want to open up and swallow him would be stellar.

"Uh .."

"Oh my god! Are we -seriously- doing this again? Okay ... lemme save us some time, babe. So, this is where I say something snappy about you creeping on me, you then say something mysterious and bad-boy sexy and or sassy, and then I pretend to be shocked, etc, etc." Uh .... okay, his brain has officially gone off-line. If he were a meme, there'd be one of those frozen loading icons on his face. Because he could -swear- that Stiles just used the word sexy in regard to him! "So, now that we've cut to the chase, Fido ... how about you tell me what you're doing out here." If Stiles were a werewolf, he'd be an Alpha, because the last few words are as much an order as any Derek had ever given him. 

Unlike one of Derek's orders, however, he finds himself unable to answer right away. He's still struggling to get his head on straight. To reboot in the middle of this surreal conversation. So, he takes a deep breath ... carefully pushes himself to his feet .... and leans languidly back, against a tree. He crosses his arms over his chest for a moment .. and then sighs. 

"Creeping on you." He puts Derek-levels of deadpan into the words, keeping his features as neutral and bland as he can. He really wasn't expecting Stiles to throw his head back and laugh happily. Enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Fido. I totally needed that. Now. For reals, babe. Why are you here?" That is a good question and there's not an answer he's actually comfortable giving. This isn't about him though, is it? So, one more deep breath and then he decides ... screw it. He takes off running, leaping easily up, onto Stiles' window. The human yelps and jumps back, stumbling over his own feet, but managing to keep standing. By some miracle. 

Isaac nearly swallows his heart in panic, but manages to remain looking chill as he slowly folds his tall, lanky frame through the window. Until he's standing in Stiles' room. His inner stalker is squeeing like a fifteen year old girl watching a Thai BL drama. 

He.

Is.

In.

Stiles'.

Room.

This may be the greatest thing that he has achieved thanks to the Bite. 

Stiles is standing, arms crossed in front of himself, tired glare in place. That is all the reminder Isaac needs about how serious the situation actually is. The reason he's here. He leans back against the window sill, hands grabbing the edges of it so that he doesn't lose what few brain cells he has left and hug the human or something. Because he -really- wants to do that. Wants to gather the human into his arms and promise that whatever's wrong, he'll help Stiles get through it. He might be the type to lie to himself, or Derek, or Harris, but he doesn't want to lie to Stiles. 

"You're not sleeping. You smell wrong. Sour and suppressed, rather than fresh and free. It's making my nose burn, and frankly, it's pissing me off. So, tell me who I have to go beat down so that you can start taking care of yourself again." He narrows his eyes, waiting patiently for Stiles to give him an answer. 

"Uh ..." Huh. It's deliciously satisfying to see Stiles in the same boat he had been in. Confused, struggling to reboot his brain as he tries to grasp a very odd concept. It's not every day, or any day actually, where Isaac offers to beat something up for Stiles. He would have, in a heartbeat, if he had the chance in the past. He'd do just about anything for the human.

"What's wrong, babe? Wolf got your tongue?" It's a miracle he manages to get the word babe out. The forming of it nearly choked him. How could he be so bold as to use such a term? But then, Stiles -had- used it first, so .... maybe it's not a huge mistake. He -might- be that lucky for once. 

"That is wrong. On so many levels. Just a lame joke, Isaac. Gonna have to give you some pointers in the future." Isaac's claws are suddenly very much present, digging into the paint of the window sill, peeling it off as he tries to remain cool. Chill. Or at least some pretense of it. Future .... does that mean that there's some future in which they'll be talking like this again? Because it really, -really- isn't safe to invite the Big Bad Wolf in, even if it's just a Beta ... Isaac isn't likely to leave once he has a way in. Why would he? Stiles is ... Stiles, and this is more than Isaac could ever hope for. 

"Quit stalling and spill it, Stilinski." The human teen's mouth snaps closed, honey colored eyes narrowing at the werewolf. Isaac is glad that Stiles can't smell the same way a were can. He's pretty sure it would send him running for the hills. 

"Fine. No, I'm not sleeping, you creeper-wolf. It has nothing to do with anything you can go beat up for me. Well, maybe you could beat up Scott. His head is so far up Allison's ass that he totally forgot what time of year it is." Isaac can feel anger surging through him. He cannot understand how someone would throw away a life long friendship/brotherhood over some girl. 

He gets another whiff of the wrong scent permeating Stiles. That just makes him angrier.

"Your mom." The words pop out before he can check himself, before he can try and censure himself. Stiles immediately folds in on himself. 

"I'd say it's creepy you know that, but that's pretty much just stating the obvious at this point." Isaac ... cannot argue with that, actually. It's basically spot on. (Doesn't mean he'll be changing it or anything.) "But then .. you lost your Mom, too. Makes sense." 

After a few moments of hesitation, Isaac pushes away from the window sill and crosses to where his friend is standing. (He's just gonna casually use that label in his thoughts. Friend.) The closer he gets, the more Stiles' scent changes. For .. the better ... that is not something he was expecting. 

"So, Scott has completely forgotten the fact that you need to visit your Mom's grave. He's blown you off for Allison, and you're not sleeping because you're scared of going on your own. Partially because there's an angry lizard shifter out there, and partially because you're scared to face her on your own. That about sum it up?" Stiles' shoulders have risen steadily, until he's so hunched over into himself that Isaac has to wince in sympathy. Having spent his entire life trying to look smaller than he is, he can understand the movement. They are both surprisingly well versed in self preservation, except where the Supernatural is concerned. 

"Yeah. Spot on." Stiles seems to admit this begrudgingly, and he cannot blame the human. He is a stranger poking his nose into the middle of his business. But he cannot ... -will- not take a step back. Stiles obviously needs the help and he is more than happy and willing to do so. "What do you want, Isaac?" Now .. that's a bit of a loaded question, isn't it? The Beta could answer that in half a dozen different ways, but for now, he will stick to one. 

Isaac reaches out, pressing his palm flat against the nape of Stiles' neck. It's a very lupine gesture, but not surprising, the human immediately reacts to it. He presses up, into the hold, eyes half lidding in pleasure as he waits for an answer.

"Get your shoes on." He gives the nape one firm, decisive squeeze, and then moves to jump back out of the window. He doesn't have to look over his shoulder or even listen to know that Stiles has grabbed his shoes and rushed to meet him.

* * *

Isaac loathes and loves the cemetery. It's a place he used to retreat to when his Dad became too hard to handle. It's also a place that constantly reminds him of the death of his Mom and brother ... the only two family members to ever give a damn about him. Hell, the only people -period-. So, to be walking side-by-side with Stiles through the cemetery is all kinds of odd and surreal. 

"Okay. Okay, this is just -weird-. I'm walking through a cemetery. At night. With a -werewolf-." The way he emphasizes certain words makes Isaac scowl, but it doesn't really anger him. He's too used to Stiles' behavior to take it personally. If Stiles meant it to be personal, nothing would stop that razor-sharp tongue of his. 

"At least you're not likely to get attacked by anything." This seems to draw the human up short for a second ... but only a second. He then launches himself forward, latching both hands onto Isaac's arm, clinging to him. Isaac vaguely wonders if human ears are good enough to hear how hard his heart beats at the sudden contact. 

"True enough. Not often I have my own puppy bodyguard." Isaac rolls his eyes at the puppy remark, but remains silent for now. There's very little Stiles could call him that he'd object to, as long as it doesn't call any of his ability into question. He continues to lead the human through the cemetery until they reach the appropriate spot. Not surprising, Stiles' hold tightens to the point it would've been painful if Isaac was still human. Instead, it barely registers as he waits patiently. 

Stiles has a habit of behaving in ways that surprise Isaac, despite all his years of observation. Like now. He doesn't separate from him, but instead, drags Isaac right up to his Mom's grave, and carefully pulls him down to the ground next to him. After a moment of rearranging, they end up in a ... strange .... but welcome position. Stiles is leaning against his side, and Isaac has slid his arm around him, holding him precariously. Afraid that any minute wrong movement will end this. 

"So ... I know it's been awhile, but things have been ... crazy." The amount of understatement here is actually tragic, but it isn't his place to say anything. So, Isaac merely squeezes Stiles' to his side and remains silent. "So, first off .. werewolves totally exist. Scott managed to get his dumbass bit, and this tall glass of cuteness next to me is a werewolf, too." Isaac's eyes widen disproportionately, his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. Cuteness? Seriously!? Does Stiles have ANY IDEA what he does to him!? He forces his breathing to remain normal. "It was a little mind-blowing to find out that the supernatural is real. And now, there's a killer lizard thing on the loose, but don't worry. Isaac will totally keep me safe. I trust him." 

T-trust .... Stiles TRUSTS him!? Oh god. Out of nowhere, Isaac is struggling to breathe correctly. Struggling not to pull away from Stiles and run for the hills! But how on Earth could he keep the teen safe if he ran?? He forces himself to hold his ground, making sure that he doesn't look at the human. 

"You may notice a spectacular lack of Scott tonight .... whelp. That's been true of just about every night for awhile now. He finally got a girlfriend, and not surprising, ditched me ASAP. Not gonna lie, Mom .. it hurts. A lot. I mean I get it! I totally get it! It's his first girlfriend. He's been labeled a loser right along with me, and now he has the chance to be something else. Can't blame him for taking it. Just kinda wish there had been room for me, too." Isaac is biting the bottom of his lip so deeply that he can taste blood, all gummy and gross. He wishes that he knew how to make Stiles feel better. "But, it's all good! Scott may have ditched me, but that means I get the chance to introduce you to Isaac! So, this is Isaac Lahey ... we used to play together when we were little bitty, back when you were still around. But now, he's my werewolf stalker! Well, I mean, he was my stalker waaaayyyyy before he became a werewolf, but still. And he totally thinks he's sooo slick and that I never noticed him. But come on. I'm the Sheriff's kid. Of -course- I noticed him. So, this is me, officially introducing him." When Stiles turns to face him, he's feeling trapped and gobsmacked. Like a fly trapped in a web, or a specimen under a microscope. 

Okay .... so he had been a complete moron to think that Stiles, the nosiest, most observant person he has ever known, didn't realize he was being watched. He would facepalm if he had the muscle control to do so. Instead, he has dropped his arm and begun to slowly slide away from Stiles. This is another instance where he wishes the ground would open up. Once he's a few feet away he stands and then he turns toward the grave, hands on his hips and snorts.

"We -both- know Stiles needs looking after, Mrs. Stilinski. He's too smart for his own good, -insists- on running with wolves and putting his life on the line to help save Beacon Hills! Add to that the fact that he can be walking along minding his own business and randomly lose a fight with -gravity-, is it any -wonder- I stalk him?" He huffs petulantly, and when he turns back to look at Stiles .... the human is smiling at him. Tired, but warm and sweet and holy hell, Isaac's heart is beating so very loud. When Stiles approaches, it takes all of Isaac's willpower not to give into his flight instinct. To hold his ground.

But when Stiles takes his hand, he gasps softly in surprise, trembles ever so slightly in response to the physical stimulus of having that cool human hand wrapped around his warm one. He's so shocked that he lets Stiles lead him closer to the grave, even settles on the cold ground next to the human. When Stiles carefully threads the arm back around himself, Isaac can feel himself blush as he carefully threads his fingers into the hem of Stiles' shirt. Desperate to hold on for however long he is allowed this.

"Now Mom, I'd -love- to dispute, like, ANY of that, but that would be a lie. I've always been clumsy and hyper, you know this. And yeah, okay, since Scott got bit I've been put into some -minor- danger, but it's nothing I can't handle. Promise." Isaac wants to call the human a liar, but he's not about to out him in front of his Mom's grave or anything. Besides, if he's not on his best behavior, this, whatever it is, might end. He isn't eager for that. "Anyway, Isaac's here, and he'll take care of me ... won't you?" 

The werewolf swallows hard, feels his adam's apple click painfully as he struggles to think of what to say. Most would probably find all of this surreal and foolish ... sitting in front of a grave discussing such things, but Isaac gets it. He -really- does. He's sat in front of graves so many times and spilled his heart out because he had no one else to talk to. He hates that Stiles has to go through this, too.

So, he clears his throat and straightens up. Reaches his free hand out to brush a few leaves off the base of the gravestone. 

"As much as he pisses me off with his reckless behavior .... he's right. You have my word, Mrs. Stilinski ... I will do everything I can to protect Stiles. He .. he means a lot to me. More than I can say. Talking.. not exactly my strong point. More the ... silent type, you know? I mean, it was always safer to be quiet, not get noticed. But I will protect Stiles. With my life. He .. he's worth so much more than me. He's the bravest, kindest, smartest person I've ever known. I .. I won't lie. The world wouldn't really miss me, but Stiles? We'd be lost without him." Dear God, why can't he shut up!? On instinct, his fingers tighten in the material of Stiles' shirt. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the ridicule he's expecting from the human.

So, imagine his surprise when he glances over ... and finds Stiles passed out against him. Part of him is both thrilled and upset that Stiles missed his entire confession here. But he's just really, -really- happy to see the human sleeping! He looks around quickly, even though he knows there's no reason to check if they're alone. His senses would be going crazy if they weren't. But still, he checks before he leans close. His nostrils flare and he shivers at the scents wafting off of Stiles. With just these few moments of sleep, the human is already returning to his usual scent and it eases something deep inside of Isaac. He carefully works Stiles' into his lap, wrapping both arms protectively around the human. Letting him use him as a pillow. For now, he won't wake him. It's obvious his boy needs the sleep. So, he'll watch over him for now.

"Sweet dreams, Stiles." He murmurs the words, hesitates for just a moment ... and then carefully brushes a feather soft kiss across the human's temple. It might be his only chance, after all.

**Fin**


End file.
